


Something borrowed

by zmeischa



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, WTF Combat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zmeischa/pseuds/zmeischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of one literary career.<br/>AU, 3rd season's Christmas episode never happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something borrowed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Winter Temporary Fandom Combat: http://wtfcombat.diary.ru/  
> My thanks to belana for beta-reading (twice, in two languages).

Patricia Levinson came into this world in 1923, though Edith was invariably stating that she had invented her right after the war, when the Downton convalescent hospital was closed and she “was bored”. Mary suspected that Mrs. (sic!) Levinson had probably appeared after Sir Anthony Strallan had eloped from his own weddings and Edith had realized that she wasn’t ever getting married. Be that at is may, in 1923 a small publishing house had printed a detective novel _A choice of a heiress_ by Patricia Levinson, and from that moment the life of the Grantham family had been irrevocably changed.

As Lady Violet said, “a lady can allow herself to write books only if no one reads them”. Everyone read Edith’s books: maids, footmen, farmers’ wives, postmen and railway conductors, seamstresses and shop-girls, Dr. Clarkson and Mr. Murrey. Every new novel disappeared at once from the house library and began a long journey downstairs starting from Mrs. Hughes and ending up as Mary had reasons to suspect, with the stable-boys. The only person immune to the detective contagion had been Carson however even he once didn’t contain himself and respectfully asked Edith if it really had been a butler who “did it” in her last novel.

Downton received batches of letters addressed to “Lady Levinson”. A taciturn photographer in a hunting cap made Edith take unnatural poises in front of the castle for several hours, and then one of those photographs appeared in an illustrated monthly magazine signed “Patricia Levinson in her ancestral estate”. Once Mary was horrified by hearing her sister’s voice on the radio into believing that she was hallucinating, but it turned out that BBC really had been interested in Edith’s opinion about Bright Young Things. Coming out of Harrods’ with Christmas presents Mary and Edith had been blinded by a magnesium flash; the next day Mary had a great pleasure of seeing her own image in the paper, with elucidation below: “Patricia Levinson with her sister”.

Mary had been blissfully ignorant about the contents of these books till 1926. She wasn’t the only one: her grandmother assured everyone that “such passions were injurious at her age”, Sir Robert didn’t see eye to eye with modern literature, and Matthew had honestly tried to read _A choice of a heiress_ in bed, but invariably had been falling asleep after page nine. But at the time of the Great Strike both Mary’s sons were down with measles so she had to stay in Downton instead of going to London and driving taxis and having fun. On the third day, when the boys’ fever had subsided, Mary felt she was dying of boredom and took a first book at hand. It was _A choice of a heiress_.

The main character of Patricia Levinson’s novel was an aristocratic family of Crawfords, residing in Delfrige Hall. A terrible ancestral curse weighted upon this ill-starred family: crimes were always committed under their roof. Every guest passing their threshold eventually became a corpse, a murderer, or, if especially lucky, a bearer of some dark secret. Servants didn’t even wince upon finding the usual stabbed body in the library and testified in a lively way; only the cook each time became distraught and talked about giving her notice. After four books the Crawfords started having doubts and attempted leaving their accursed mansion, but in vain: wherever fate brought them, the recurrent crime was lying in wait.

It would seem that three unmarried daughters whose suitors were being regularly murdered had been doomed to spinsterhood, but Patricia Levinson had proved in a brilliant way that nothing can prevent a beautiful young girl from personal happiness. The eldest daughter, Margaret the elegant, had endured some unpleasant moments when a dead Italian count had been found in her bedroom (Mary threw her book at the wall), became engaged to her cousin Ralf, broke his heart, nearly went to jail on accusation of murdering Ralf’s new bride (Mary seriously considered burning her book in the fireplace), married a diplomat, went to Egypt with him – where, of course, she immediately found a dead body – nearly went to jail on accusation of murdering her husband and, in the eighth book, at last became engaged to Ralf once more. Mary suspected that in the ninth book the wedding was going to be interrupted by yet another murder.

The middle daughter, Emily the talented, nearly perished in the book one, but she obviously had the constitution of a horse so she survived an affair with an impostor in book two, exposed a blackmailer in book four, married a French painter (after it transpired that it wasn’t he who had stolen the Gainsborough), went to Paris – dead body already lying in wait – and became a famous painter.

The youngest daughter, Sarah, was still too young to indulge freely in her family’s hobby, but she had already made a world of trouble for a handsome footman, had a voyage down the Thames – dead body included – and got engaged with a young and buoyant journalist, who, as one was led to hope, was going to keep her knee-deep in mysterious crimes for the rest of her life.

When the Great Strike and the measles subsided, Mary had read all the eight books written by Patricia Levinson, and was facing an unpleasant dilemma. She heartily desired to strangle Edith, but doing it without previously explaining the reason would have been impolite. On the other hand she didn’t care admitting to reading even a single page of Mrs. Levinson’s creations.

In autumn Edith came back to Downton, and Mary caught herself nervously listening to the tapping of typewriter coming from her sister’s room. A few months ago she didn’t know what rubbish Edith was writing and couldn’t have cared less. Now she still didn’t know what rubbish Edith was writing, and the thought was driving her mad. She tired to calm down by reminding herself that a new book was coming in less then three months (Edith wrote two novels a year), but this idea plunged her even farther into distress instead of consoling her. Unwittingly Mary had joined the army of maids and shop-girls awaiting the next book of Patricia Levinson.

Mary wasn’t made for long suffering and inaction. That is why Edith having come earlier that usual from her habitual stroll was very much surprised by finding her sister near the typewriter.

“You are so… heartless!” Mary exclaimed angrily. “You’ve been torturing those unhappy lovers for eight books, can’t you at least let them marry in peace?”

The Granhams had never started reading Edith’s books so no one in the house (twenty-five servants excluded) never found out that the ninth Crawford book, _Something borrowed_ , was dedicated to “my sister Mary, in gratitude for her priceless advice”.


End file.
